


You look ridiculous

by stealing-jasons-job (changingthefairy_tale)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arya and Gendry being adorable, Canon Universe, Episode: s08e02 A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, F/M, Fluff, Gendrya - Freeform, Missing Scene, One Shot, SO MUCH FLUFF, game of thrones season 8, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23814253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job
Summary: And then there was Gendry sitting at the table closest to the Stark family. He was probably the only one in the room who wasn’t hollering or making noise. Instead, he was staring intently at Arya. In a way that made her feel safe and very much in danger all at once. Of all the things that had changed, it seemed Gendry was the one thing that hadn’t.___Or, the one where Gendry and Arya dance at the big dinner held the night before the big fight with the White Walkers. Lots of fluff. <3
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 8
Kudos: 125





	You look ridiculous

**Author's Note:**

> I found this bad boy chilling in my Google Docs. I wrote it for a friend who was in need of some Gendrya fluff after S8E2 aired. 
> 
> It's super fluffy. Basically just drabble, honestly. But hope you all enjoy!

Arya pulled at the bodice of her gown as she looked at herself in the mirror. She had never been fond of dresses, and this one was particularly tight and itchy around her abdomen. The skirts fell long and heavy; they would restrict her movement more than she was comfortable with. Her hair was braided into a low bun at the nape of her neck, and Sansa had insisted on lining her eyes and adding just a touch of blush to her cheeks. 

“Stop fidgeting. You look beautiful,” Sansa smiled, placing her hands on Arya’s shoulders. 

“I look ridiculous,” Arya snapped, shrugging out of her sister’s grasp. Sansa, of course, looked radiant as ever in a dark navy fur-lined gown, the Stark family sigil attached just below her collarbone. Born to act the part of Lady of Winterfell. 

She had begged not to come to this thing. When Jon and Sansa had both insisted that she be there, the first thing they'd both agreed on in months, Arya had asked if she could at least wear pants. Jon and Sansa then set a record by both agreeing on two things in the span of five minutes. 

“There’s a war going on. We should be strategizing how we plan on beating the White Walkers without the Lannister bannermen, not throwing parties,” Arya mumbled, swatting away at Sansa’s attempts to retuck a tendril of hair that had fallen out of Arya’s bun. 

“It’s not a party. Winterfell is hosting five noble families and their armies. If their sons and daughters are going to fight for us, the least we can do is have a formal dinner to raise their spirits before sending them off to battle.” Arya was about to argue when Sansa raised a hand, stopping her before she could get a word out. “Believe it or not, this was not my idea.” 

The exasperated look Sansa gave Arya reminded her of their mother. She would often give Arya that exact same look when she found her training with Jon and Rob. Arya wondered when Sansa had become so grown up. Perhaps it was somewhere between being accused of Geoffry's murder and being manipulated into marrying Rapey Ramsey. 

“When did you become the anti-social one?” Arya asked wryly, an eyebrow raised. Sansa simply smirked, shaking her head. 

“Is it really that hard to believe that I maybe agree with you?” Sansa asked as she left the room. 

“Yes,” Arya muttered under her breath. 

“Be downstairs in five minutes!” her voice carried from down the hall. Arya gave herself one last look in the mirror. Damn the old gods and the new, what she would have given to be a faceless man at that moment. 

She made her way down to the great hall, slipping in the back silently. Jon met her eyes as she took her place on the other side of Sansa, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. He was enjoying her discomfort way too much. 

Jon stood, and every head immediately turned to hear him speak. 

“I’m not going to lie. The odds are not in our favor. One hundred thousand Whites, a blue-fire-breathing dragon and close to forty thousand of Cersei’s men waiting in King’s Landing for us to fail or show weakness.” 

“Leave it to Jonny Boy to keep it light at the dinner table,” Tormond chuckled. The room momentarily roared in laughter, and even Jon smiled. 

“The odds are not in our favor,” Jon repeated. His voice boomed throughout the room, the same voice that used to tease her as a child now toasting to an army about to take on the greatest threat mankind has ever seen. “But the odds were not in our favor when the North stood up against The Mad King. The odds were not in our favor when we brought together Wildlings and Northmen to stand against the Bolton’s tyranny of our homeland. The odds were not in our favor when the Night King attacked our forces at Castle East.” 

A pin drop could have been heard in the great hall as Jon paused.  _ Always one for the dramatics _ , Ayra thought to herself.

Jon raised his glass, his eyes somehow both ice-cold yet alive with a fire within. 

“Fuck the odds.” 

The room erupted in a chorus of cheers. Ale glasses pounded the tables. Sansa was laughing in the chair next to Arya, the first true smile she'd seen on her sister’s face in weeks, if not months. She was once again astounded by how much things had changed over the years. Between her father being executed, Rob and her mother being murdered, all of the terrible things that had happened to them. She looked around the room at all of the men and women who now cheered for Jon, her bastard half brother, the same way they used to cheer for their father. 

Ayra found herself smiling despite herself as she watched from the head table. It was an odd group laid out in front of the Stark family. 

Tormond, a big-boned and bushy-haired wildling, was making eyes at Brienne, the first female knight. She was still pretending she wasn’t equally as interested in Tormond. Lady Alynna sat next to her uncle Jorah, an exile and the youngest head of any noble house reunited as the last living Mormonts. Hell, a Targaryen was sitting on the other side of Jon, looking at him as if everyone in the room couldn’t tell that they were sleeping together. 

And then there was Gendry sitting at the table closest to the Stark family. He was probably the only one in the room who wasn’t hollering or making noise. Instead, he was staring intently at Arya. In a way that made her feel safe and very much in danger all at once. Of all the things that had changed, it seemed Gendry was the one thing that hadn’t. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, Arya supposed. He had definitely grown up a bit, now more confident in his movements and comfortable in his own skin. He’d taken on his father’s house sigil, and Jon had officially recognized him as the last Baratheon alive just the night before. Arya tried not to notice the way he’d filled out his frame as a man, not that he could have ever been considered weak or even lanky before. He had actually changed quite a bit, she guessed. 

But there was something familiar about him as well. In the way he smirked at her from across the room, always calculating and studying his surroundings. They had endured so much together, but they had also spent years apart. Somehow, though, Gendry still looked at her the same way — as if he knew who she really was. 

As a little girl who was constantly misunderstood as a child by everyone except for maybe Jon, it was comforting to have someone know her so inexplicably well. As a young woman who had trained for over a year to be invisible, it was terrifying. 

Arya couldn’t help but start fidgeting with her dress again. 

Dinner was mostly uneventful. Ghost made a brief appearance, which shocked the hell out of a few unsuspecting bannermen. Otherwise, though, it was a typical dinner filled with good food, ale, and laughter. Arya supposed it would be the last time that many of them would ever have a decent meal. Winter was finally here, and not everyone was going to survive the coming months or possibly years of battle ahead. 

“He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you, you know,” Sansa whispered in her ear. Arya ignored her sister, but her chest constricted for a split second. Gendry was not interested in Arya, not as anything more than a friend. She had once asked him — no, begged him — to be her family, long ago in a half-lit cave. Back then, she had been sure he felt something towards her, though she was too young to really understand what that feeling was. But he had turned her down. 

Nothing had changed since that night. Then again, everything had changed since that night. 

Either way, Gendry was the kind of man who would end up with a woman like Arya’s sister. He might have been a bastard in name, but he was an honorable man. A man who would want an honorable woman as a wife, not an assassin who was more comfortable in armor than a dress.

Arya shook her head, pushing the thought aside. She had a war to win, first against the Night King, and then against Cersei. She was the last one on the list, and Arya intended to finish it. She did not have time for feelings or distractions. 

Soon, the Great Hall was turned into a makeshift ballroom. Tables were pushed to the edges of the room, and drunk men spun their wives in circles to the music. Arya had always hated the dances that her mother made her attend as a child, but there was something a little beautiful about watching this group of misfits laugh and sing in the face of the horror ahead. 

“Would m’lady like to dance?” A voice interrupted her thoughts, and she actually jumped a little. Gendry had appeared next to the table, his hand extended to request hers. Ayra could only blink. 

“She would love to,” Sansa answered for her, all but shoving her off her seat. Gendry just smirked as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. Before she could really register what was happening, Gendry was spinning her around the room just like the men and their wives. 

Unlike the rest of them, though, he wasn’t laughing or cheering or even drunk. Instead, he looked at her, those tungsten eyes seeing far more than they should. 

“Not in a talking mood tonight? The Arya I first met couldn’t seem to shut up,” he teased. One arm held her hand in the air while the other arm was wrapped firmly around her waist. Her skin was on fire at the place his palm touched her dress. 

“Just trying to decide whether I should kill you for calling me m’lady,” she mused, refusing to let on that anything was out of the ordinary. He gave her another heart-stopping look in response. 

The longer they danced, the more aware Arya was becoming of his proximity. He was close enough for her to see the flecks of gray in his eyes, close enough for her to feel the muscles of his chest through his dress shirt. It was unfamiliar territory for her, and those warring feelings of danger and safety returned. She immediately stepped away from him a bit, removing her hand from his to pull at her dress. 

“So is it the dancing or the outfit that has you so antsy tonight?” Gendry asked, though they both knew neither was the true answer. Around them, couples continued to dance, but it was almost like they were in their own little bubble. 

“The company, actually,” Arya blurted. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going for with that response, but it came out almost as a growl. Gendry just laughed, once again taking her hand and leading her across the dance floor. 

“It’s nice, what your brother did for all of these people,” Gendry commented, thankfully changing the subject. Arya once again looked around the room at the people gathered. 

“I’m honestly surprised a brawl hasn’t broken out at this point,” Arya chuckled, not meeting his eyes. “I suppose Sansa was right earlier. ‘If their sons and daughters are going to fight for us, the least we can do is have a formal dinner to raise their spirits before sending them off to battle.’” 

“You, agreeing with your sister? The world really might be ending.” Arya pretended to be offended by the comment, but she couldn’t help but smile at the joke. He wasn’t entirely wrong. 

“You seem to get along with Sansa.” She immediately regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. 

“Well, I imagine you would, too, if you weren’t related.” Arya just snorted at Gendry’s assessment. After a moment of silence, “She’s very beautiful.” 

Arya just nodded, trying not to let the comment sting. Sansa  _ was _ beautiful; she could hardly fault Gendry for noticing.    
  
“I hear she’s single. Maybe you should have asked her to dance instead.” She couldn’t keep the accusation out of her voice. She stared at his shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Maybe I should have.” 

“You’re an ass, Gendry Baratheon.” He laughed, genuinely tickled with her. Arya tried to pull away, but he was stronger than her. Gendry kept his arm securely around her so she couldn’t escape the conversation, but she still struggled against his grip. “Let me go,” she huffed. Her eyes were trained on his shoulder blade, refusing to meet his gaze. 

He was wearing a black linen shirt, no vest. It was starting to fray right where the seam hit his shoulder. She briefly wondered how it would feel to yank at the seam until it gave under the pressure. 

“Sansa is beautiful,” he repeated. “But, I much prefer her sister, even though she’s such a large pain in my ass for such a small person.” Arya’s eyes immediately snapped to his. 

“Liar.” She didn’t want to believe him. It was such a ballsy statement to just put out there, and it actually caught her off-guard. He didn’t seem offended by the accusation, just amused. 

“You shouldn’t insult people who are bigger than you,” he teased. The comment brought back a flood of memories from years ago, and a small smile played at her lips despite herself. 

“Then I wouldn’t get to insult anyone,” she shot back, playing along. 

The song came to an end. He gave a slight bow, that amused smirk still on his face. The crowded great hall was still roaring with noise around them, but she could barely hear any of it. 

Gendry brought her hand up to his face, his lips barely brushing against her knuckles. Arya felt her stomach drop at the brief contact. He held her gaze with a bit of mischief in his eyes. “And just for the record?” 

Arya stood there waiting, an eyebrow raised. 

“You look ridiculous in that dress...M’lady.” 

A genuine smile spread across her face as she watched him walk away. 

  
  



End file.
